


Keeping Up Appearances

by MysticPuma



Series: FFXV One-shots [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, But not really canon divergence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Time Travel, Video Game Mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 14:11:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19358611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticPuma/pseuds/MysticPuma
Summary: At the end of the road, Umbra appears not to Noctis, but to Ignis, to offer him a chance to go back and ask a pointed question.





	Keeping Up Appearances

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the ending of the game and Episode: Ignis. Apparently Episode: Ignis just… affected me, this being my second fic because of it. I tagged it canon-divergent because Umbra never takes you back that far in the past, but other than that it doesn’t technically “break” canon.  
> You could consider this a follow-up to "Knowing", but it works as a stand-alone.

They’re sat in a cramped room in one of the old subways, catching their breath from fighting all the daemons that swarm the Crown City, when Ignis hears the familiar huffed whine of Umbra.

“Huh? Umbra? I didn’t-” Noct begins, but trails off as he watches the dog pad across the floor to the blind advisor and bumps his nose against one of his hands.

Ignis allows his hand to move to stroke between the dog’s ears. It must be Umbra’s powers that allow him to understand why the dog is here, because he gets it immediately.

“Me, Umbra?” The dog nods beneath his hand. “Where are we going? Or perhaps I ought to ask when?”

“Iggy? What are you-” Ignis holds up a hand to stop Noct’s panicked voice.

“I think Umbra wants to show me something. Don’t worry. I shall return before you can miss me.” He has every intention of returning; he doesn’t want to miss one second of this day with all four of them together again. He listens intently, and only when he hears Noctis sigh in resignation does he return his attention to Umbra. “Shall we?”

If he’s travelled with Umbra before, he can’t remember it, because the feeling that sweeps through his body is entirely foreign. It’s a lurching sensation, though not entirely unpleasant. It reminds him of zipping down the high-ways in the Regalia, and that is at least a pleasant memory.

* * *

 

As the feeling fades, the first thing he notices is… An image forming before his eyes. He can see. He blinks as the haze begins to clear, trying to take stock of what he’s seeing. It’s Noct, but definitely not in his Royal Raiments, and many MANY years younger. He’s in a school uniform, and he looks bored out of his mind, looking at a set of documents… Political documents. How far back has Umbra taken him?

“Why do I have to read this stuff, Ignis?” Noctis groans, and Ignis answers on instinct.

“It is your duty, as future King, to-” the words suddenly catch in his throat and he feels sick to his stomach. Future King. The snag catches the young Prince’s attention, and he looks up with concern at Ignis, used to lectures about his duties, but not used to Ignis just cutting off in the middle of a sentence.

“Ignis? What’s up?”

Suddenly, all Ignis can do is stare at the young Noctis, trying to memorise his concerned expression, the way his tie isn’t quite done up properly (and that used to drive him mad, but Gods what he wouldn’t give to have those days back, where all they had to worry about were the Prince’s grades and whether he could keep his apartment clean).

But those words come back to his mind and tears sting in his eyes. Future King.

“I-Ignis?” Noctis looks very worried, and Ignis shakes his head to try and clear it. It doesn’t particularly work.

“Forgive me…” He feigns looking at his watch. “I just remembered, I’m supposed to meet with His Majesty.” It’s a bit of a lie, he doesn’t know what his actual schedule is for whatever day he’s been returned to. But it’s not entirely a lie, because those words are still rattling around in his head and he knows now why Umbra sent him back here, and he does need to meet with the King. The old King. Regis.

“Oh, okay. Did you… need this?” he indicates the papers, an impossible-to-hide shimmer of hope in his eyes, and back then Ignis knows he would have reprimanded the Prince for shirking his duties, but oh he’s so much wiser now… He knows so much more.

“Yes, actually. I apologise, you’ll have to go over them some other time.” He doesn’t try to make his apology sound sincere, because he knows already the relieved smile he’ll receive as he picks up the folder and tucks it beneath his arm as he stands.

“No worries. Guess I should get back to studying then.”

Ignis’ chest clenches horribly. So much expectation… So much pressure… And for what? “I think you can permit yourself a break tonight. You have been working diligently.” He has no guarantee that Noct _has_ been working diligently, he hasn’t figured out exactly when this is occurring, but he can’t remember many times that Noct actually properly slacked off on his school work.

The surprise on the young Prince’s face hurts, but the smile that stretches across his face is worth it. “You serious?”

“Of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He doesn’t entirely want to leave. He wants to stay here a while and watch Noctis play a video game or watch a movie and just be _happy_ , but if he doesn’t hurry, he won’t be allowed an audience with the King. So, as Noct picks up his phone to text Prompto, Ignis steps into the hall and slips on his shoes.

He should be rushing, he knows he doesn’t have long until the King will stop receiving visitors; not that he can remember exactly when the king used to shut the doors to the throne room, it’s been a decade, and things like that just weren’t important enough to keep in his mind after everything that had happened. But he can’t help taking things slowly, savouring the sight of the city before tragedy, watching each smiling, or stressed, person pass him as he finds his way to the old car; not the Regalia, but not so different. He savours the fact that he can see, the sounds of life echoing all around him, the blinking neon signs and the chatter, the loud music pouring out of a nearby club as the night-life of Insomnia begins.

He winds down the window to drive to the Citadel, letting the life of the city seep into his bones. Can they really bring this back? Can they save anything of these glittering streets? Can they bring back any of the magic of city-life after so long in the dark?

He doesn’t know, and at this moment, he doesn’t care. He has questions, and only one man has the answers.

He arrives at the Citadel, and sees someone familiar and yet so different walking out. Gladio pauses, frowning as he sees Ignis stepping out of the car.

“Hey, what’re you doing back? Thought you were trying to get Noct to read through those papers tonight.” Ignis’ heart clenches. Gladio’s voice hasn’t changed, but the tone has. This Gladio’s voice is not scratched out from yelling, and it doesn’t hold that air of dread that Ignis has grown used to in the future.

He doesn’t want to worry Gladio, so he manages a wry smile. “We both know that was a lost cause.”

That makes the young crowns-guard laugh. “Finally gave up?”

“I am merely attempting a different strategy.” That’s a lie. Once he leaves, his version of him will just keep pushing for Noctis to read the papers, and he’ll succeed, at the cost of both of their sanity. Gods, he wishes he could change how he’d handled all of it. “I forgot I had some business here earlier, please don’t let me stop you from getting home.”

“You forgot something? Holy shit, who are you and what have you done with Ignis?”

Ignis actually laughs at that, because it’s something the future Gladio would say to him too. Despite all the chaos and darkness, Ignis was always the organiser, the one that remembered everything. “I am only human. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He makes to leave, and instead of the fervent goodbye he’d receive in the future (because who knew if you’d ever see each other again in such chaotic times?) he just receives a grunted ‘see ya’ and a raised hand as he passes and heads inside.

In a way, he’s glad that he can’t see in the future. He doesn’t want to know what state the Citadel is in after a decade of neglect and daemons. Once again, he wastes time looking at the polished floors and the high ceilings, committing them to memory as he heads for the throne room.

It seems he’s made it just in time. He is granted an audience swiftly, and he realises that the King probably thinks something is wrong with Noctis by the worried set of his eyebrows.

He bows deeply, thankfully something so heavily ingrained into him that no passage of time could ever wash it away, and only then does he truly look at King Regis.

It hurts to see him, in so many different ways. It hurts to see the lines caused by the strain of maintaining the wall, and it hurts to see this man who surely knows just what fate awaits his son. It hurts to see concern in his eyes, and tiredness in his limbs. A sick part of him wishes he were still blind, so he didn’t have to look King Regis in the eyes right now.

“Ignis, what brings you here?” His voice is steady, but Ignis still hears like he does in the future, so many more nuances than he used to. His voice is strained, he’s trying to pretend he isn’t worried, and to anyone else the ruse might work.

“Forgive me, your majesty. All is well with your son. I wished to speak with you about something else.” _All is well_. It feels bitter in his mouth as he says it, because all is not well with the Noctis he knows now, the one who knows his destiny, and who walks towards it with his head held high.

Regis relaxes slightly, though he must be able to tell that what Ignis wants to discuss isn’t pleasant, because his frown does not entirely vanish. “Very well, what would you speak of?”

Ignis glances at the guards still in the room. “Might we speak in private, your majesty?” This is not the kind of information that anyone else ought to know. If he wasn’t certain that the king _already knew_ he probably wouldn’t tell him either. The burden has weighed on his mind like a brick for ten years, and he couldn’t force that pain on anyone else. He couldn’t even tell Noct… The one person he _should_ have told, the person this whole mess concerns. But he knows that it wouldn’t have made a difference.

He hesitates, but after a moment, Regis waves the guards away, and they are alone. “What is it?” Now he’s very concerned, and Ignis almost loses his nerve as his heart constricts in his chest. What if he’s wrong? What if the King _doesn’t_ know? He takes a steadying breath.

“Your majesty, forgive my impudence… But are you _aware_ of the prophecy?”

One of Regis’ eyebrows raises. “But of course.”

“Forgive me, that was… incorrectly worded. I meant the implications of the prophecy. The truth of it.” As he speaks, he watches the King’s expression go tight.

“What could you possibly mean?”

That is all the answer that he needs, the tension that has set into the King’s jaw, the slight knit of his brows, and the tightness of his voice. He _knows._ He’s _always known._ And now the anger returns, and Ignis balls up a fist and looks to the ground, because he can’t lose his head, but he’s overwhelmed once more by the knowledge that Pryna gave him.

Silence stretches between them for a long time, before Ignis is able to actually speak again. When he does, his voice is quiet, and he can’t tell if it’s a dangerous quiet or a defeated quiet.

“You’ve known, all this time… And you have had Noctis learn to be King? You’ve had him look over Political Reports, and study for his tests, all while knowing that it would be for nothing?” He forces his gaze up, the anger coming out full force now that he can finally speak about it, years of bottled fury spilling out in one go. “YOU KNEW!”

Regis’ expression shifts from tense anger to undisguised guilt as Ignis’ eyes leak tears. His breathing is laboured as he tries to reign in his emotions, but it’s too late. He opened the flood-gates, and now tears cascade down his face, and he’s so angry and he feels _betrayed._

Regis takes a moment to try and compose himself before he speaks. “How did you find out?” Ignis deflates, because _this him didn’t._ This him, he thinks, is the real blind one.

“It’s… a long story.” And he tells it. He tells the King about Pryna, and the vision, and the ring, about his eyes, and that he’s from the future. He leaves out the ten year darkness, and Lunafreya’s death, but he thinks The King already knows about those. “Umbra brought me here.” He finishes with that, and The King nods.

“I am sorry.” Ignis can’t tell what Regis is apologising for. Perhaps it’s for his eyesight, perhaps it’s for the state of the world he came from, perhaps it’s for the cruel knowledge he has, perhaps it’s for Noctis, perhaps it’s for Luna. Perhaps it’s for everything. For lying to them, for pretending Noctis had some kind of future, that he wasn’t just a glorified sheep, raised for slaughter. “I wish I could give Noctis a life free of burdens… But I cannot. If I did… The people would know something was wrong. They would despise him, spurn him as a lazy, uncaring Prince who has no intention of ruling them.

Ignis falls to his knees, his anger fleeing him, replaced by only sorrow and a sickening numbness. Because he knows that The King is right. And it is awful. It is cruel, and unfair.

He doesn’t realise that Regis has moved until a hand rests on his shaking shoulder. He looks up through bleary eyes at the face of the man who has carried this burden, this knowledge, ever since Noctis was a child. And he doesn’t see a King in that moment. He sees a Father, with pain and conflict in his eyes, that he hasn’t been able to show to anyone.

Neither of them say a word, they just look at each other for a long time, sharing a strange sense of relief in finding that someone else knows their pain, that someone else knows what they know.

But it doesn’t change anything, and that is the worst thing of all.

He exits the throne room after an unknown amount of time, and Umbra awaits him in an empty hall. He crouches down and pets him. “Thank you, Umbra. I am ready to return.” He closes his eyes as the lurching feeling returns.

* * *

 

He feels his eyes open in the dingy subway, but no light filters into his vision. He suppresses the urge to sigh dejectedly, and instead takes a steadying breath in.

“Ignis?” Noct’s voice calls to him and he offers the King a small, broken smile. He wonders if Noctis can tell where Umbra sent him. “Everything okay?” His tone says yes; he knows. Perhaps he remembers the day that Ignis acted oddly and left early, and told him to take a break.

“All is well.” The words are poison in his mouth. But perhaps he can give Noctis some sense of peace. “I met with King Regis.” He hears three gasps. “He said… That he’s sorry. I am as well.”

An odd silence hangs over them all for a moment, before Ignis hears Noct stand and head over to him. His hand finds his shoulder, the same place his Father’s hand rested but mere moments ago for Ignis. Despite not being able to see, he can feel the emotion Noct’s eyes must convey. Not a Prince or a King, but a Son who understands the things his Father had to do. “I know. It’s okay.”

Ignis had thought, hoped, that his crying was over, but once more tears run down his cheeks.

If Umbra would allow him, he’d go back and change everything. Give Noctis the freedom to do what he wanted and live how he pleased, but he knows Umbra’s powers do not allow for such dramatic changes. He is grateful that at least he got the answer he needed.

They stand and head for the Citadel, and Ignis still wishes things could be different.

 


End file.
